


Shouting Though No-one's Listening

by HamishHolmes



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 03:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2175657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamishHolmes/pseuds/HamishHolmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a sequel to Listening in the Silence. It isn't necessary to read that, but I'd recommend it (after all, I think it's quite good!).</p><p>This is what happens when the Enterprise isn't quite lucky enough (Jim's POV)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shouting Though No-one's Listening

Jim’s eyes hurt. They throbbed in their sockets behind the blackness of his closed lids. His brain scrambled to fill in the blanks and supply a reason why his eyes might be throbbing painfully in his skull. It wasn’t an allergic reaction because he’d only eaten things that Bones had okayed on his last diplomatic away mission. It wasn’t a hangover. He wasn’t tired or ill. He wasn’t stressed, hungry or thirsty. Finally, his desperate brain landed on the right memory. He was on an alien planet. He wasn’t on his ship. It was more than likely that his ship was not, in fact, a ship anymore. He rather suspected that it was more a pile of burning rubble.

He didn’t want to see, or acknowledge, said pile of burning rubble, so he kept his eyes shut. There was a minute of silence, in which he could hear his own breathing and the crackle of fire.

Then an agonised scream pierced the air, shocking Jim’s eyes open. He glanced around at the damage. The night sky above was tinged orange by the fires burning all around. His lungs sucked in smoke and he coughed, sitting upright to give himself more air. He sat, taking an inventory of his pains, firelight flitting across his face. He had multiple bruises and cuts mapping new cities on his skin, a broken wrist and a cracking headache.  
He checked his holster and was glad to find the phaser still strapped there. He got to his feet amongst a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. Where was everybody? Who was still alive to constitute an ‘everybody’? How could he have hurt everyone he cared for? He shook his head to clear the self-pitying thoughts from the forefront of his mind, but he only succeeded in making his headache worse and the room spin.

_I don’t believe in no-win situations._

His own words to Spock echoed mockingly in his ears. They had been doing basic reconnaissance when they’d heard the distress call. The crew and Jim had of course rushed to the aid of the ship in peril, after all they couldn’t sit by whilst other people were dying.

They had reached the space from which the distress call was emitting and found nothing. In the middle of a wide stretch of empty space, near a large planet, was a single power source and a distress emitter. Jim had ordered the Enterprise to return to their original position when the first missile had struck. A long fight had ensued which culminated, for Jim at least, with a shot from a phaser set to stun.

And now he was here, awake with only minor injuries and no crew. They were out there, hurt, because he couldn’t wake up. He picked up a medi-pack which had miraculously survived destruction and headed outwards.  
Eventually, after what seemed and age, Jim made it out from the maze of scrap metal and the scarred wires of what had once been the bridge. The cool wind hit his face, stinging his cuts, but also oddly reassuring after the cloying heat of the fires. There was nothing reassuring about the sight that met his eyes though.

People in all colours were cast about like sprinkles after an untidy baker had left the kitchen. He was about to start towards the nearest person when he felt a presence behind him. Anger flared crimson in his mind and in an instant he had his phaser out of its holster and pointed at the man behind him.

“You had better have a good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now,” said Jim.

“It would not be logical to kill anyone who may be the last of your crew, captain,” said Spock, one eyebrow raised.

“You bastard,” said Jim, dropping his weapon to his side.

“That is not true. My mother and f –” Spock was cut off by Jim’s bear-hug.

He lingered only a moment before pulling away again.

“Come on; let’s go see what we can do.”

They made their way between bodies, pausing only to close the eyes of those dead. Those living were given painkillers to tide them over until medical help could be found. If medical help can be found said a treacherous part of Jim’s brain, but he pushed it away. Those whose screams were the loudest, whose agony was clearest, whose begging was most heart-felt were given an overdose. Though Jim administered all of the painkillers, he could not give the fatal doses. Spock did so instead, without question. Somewhere in his Vulcan mind, he had found the logic in Jim’s reluctance. Or perhaps, his human half had found the illogical heartfelt reasoning behind it.

They had made their way through most of the people by the time they made it to Carol. Her stomach had a piece of metal embedded in it, but though it had impaled her, it was also stopping the blood flow.

“Hey, Captain, how’s life?” her smile was somewhat ruined by the blood caked round her lips and dribbling down her chin.

“Um ... not too bad, considering,” said Jim.

Carol laughed slightly, sending a macabre waterfall of blood flowing over her lower face. Jim did not want to look, but forced himself not to turn away, to watch another member of his family (as he had come to think of them) dying.

“Captain,” she said, resting her hand over his, “It’s not your fault. You know that, right?”

Jim didn’t answer, but his face belied his disbelief at her statement.

“It’s not,” she said, giving his hand a weak squeeze, “and by the way, I think I saw Dr McCoy crawling in that direction.

She gave a weak point and a pained smile.

“L-live long and prosper, Spock” – the Vulcan nodded, face set – “and Captain, don’t add us to y-your list of mistakes. None of us regret our decision, and we all knew what w-we were getting into.”

Jim smiled slightly, and then watched as Carol’s fight left her and she went limp against the red dirt of the floor.

“You were never a mistake,” he murmured to her, even though she was past being able to hear him, “my mistake was letting you get hurt.”

“It is illogical to blame yourself,” said Spock into the silence that had fallen.  
Jim spun, furious and distraught tears, fists clenched at his sides.

“I DON’T CARE!” he screamed, face red and blotchy, “I don’t care if it’s the most illogical thing in the world and I don’t care what you say, this is my fault. It was illogical to think that ‘cheating’ the Kobiashu Maru Test was smart, clever, funny or, that by doing so, I could somehow prevent all future no-win situations. But I did it any way in that vain hope that by fooling a damn simulation, I could trick life.”

The tears were gushing down his face now, each chasing the tail of the ne before and dropping like paratroopers onto the shirt below. Spock’s face remained unchanged, but Jim thought he could see the flicker of understanding in the Vulcan’s eyes. He knelt and closed Carol’s eyes with gentle fingers. The Jim started heading off in the direction that Carol had pointed. Spock followed silently.

When they found Hikaru Sulu, Jim nearly threw up. The man was on his side and lying in a pool of his own semi-congealed blood which had clearly flowed from his mouth. Jim stared down at the man who he had considered a friend, a family member, a part of himself and tried to staunch the flood of emotions from this new stab wound to his heart.

As he stared, he noticed that the knuckles of Hikaru’s hand were white. Jim knelt to take a closer look and found that the man was clutching something so hard that it cut into the skin of his palm. Rigor mortis had stiffened the man’s fingers, but Jim prised them apart.

There, nestled in Hikaru’s palm - corners cutting deep welts into the flesh - was a small silver frame containing a picture of Pavel Chekov. The young Russian was grinning his head off and Jim recognised it as the day that they had gone to the theme park on Alpha Centuri. Pavel’s eyes danced and his hair flicked in the wind. It had captured his spirit in a single frame. Jim understood why Hikaru had chosen that photo to hold close to him. Jim wondered if he had ever told Chekov that his picture hung on the end of the thin chain that Sulu wore all the time; if he’d ever told him that he loved him. 

It was too late now.

Spock was standing at a respectful distance as Jim knelt by Sulu’s body, silent as the grave, but when the silence seemed to have stretched into eternity, he stepped forward and spoke.

“Captain.”

It was just one word, two syllables, but it was the wrong word.

“Don’t call me that.”

The words came out as a snap, a bark of fury.

“Pardon?”

“I said, don’t call me that!” Jim whirled, eyes manic and voice cracking. His fury boiled just below the surface and Spock took a step back.  
“I have no ship, no contact with Starfleet, no pilot or second science officer, in fact, practically no crew at all; I’m no captain.”

Spock hesitated momentarily, totally ready to site regulations that say that Captain is a title even if there is no ship, but instead, his logic loving brain won out and he remained silent. He cast his eyes around the area, pretending that he couldn’t see the tears rolling down Jim’s pallid cheeks.  
His eyes fell on something that made him open his mouth again.

“Ca – Jim.”

Jim’s eyes followed Spock’s finger until they lit upon a trail of bloody handprints on the hard packed earth. He looked at Spock, a questioning expression across his heart-ache hardened face that so little time ago had radiated excitement and wonder from each pore.

“Did Carol not say that Dr McCoy was crawling?”

Jim was on his feet in an instant, following the trail that weaved away from Sulu. They passed a nurse with a knife buried to the hilt in her temple and the trail went on. Before they could reach the next two bodies, Spock pulling ahead as his longer strides carried him further, a noise caused Jim to turn.

There stood Uhura.

Her raven hair had fallen out of its usual high ponytail and was draping over her shoulders, clinging t the sweat there. Blood, mud and tears caked her face. Cuts and bruises danced across her skin and her dress was torn in a few places. Jim thought that the fury in her face gave her a kind of beauty (although Jim only noticed in a brotherly kind of way now). 

“Captain,” she cried and leapt at him, wrapping her long arms around his neck, “I thought I was the only one left alive.”

“Nah, you can’t get rid of us that easily,” said Jim, letting go and pointing past him.

The man behind him took a step forward into the firelight and Uhura gave a small shriek and flung herself at Spock, hands going to the side of his face, his falling on her hips and tugging her closer. Lips collided and relief flooded out into passionate kiss.

“It is good to see you, Nyota,” he said and the unsaid word _alive_ echoed into the silence. Uhura let go and stepped back, understanding etched across her face.

Jim turned away, looking back the way they were going. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of blue, merely a flash, but it was enough to send him flying through the emptiness. Feet pounded against the charred floor, slipping in the blood.

He fell to his knees beside the man in blues, whose shoulders filled his shirt the way Jim had noticed on countless shifts, whose dark hair Jim had longed to ruffle every time they were called from their beds to another disaster, whose legendary hands Jim had wanted to feel against his skin, pulling him closer.

“Bones,” he whispered, so softly, so gently, that he almost didn’t hear it himself, but the man beside him groaned and tried to roll over. Jim helped him to shift until he was face up, head lying in Jim’s lap.

“Hey kid,” said Bones, affectionately.

“Hi Leonard,” said Jim, feeling like the situation required more gravitas than his usual nickname.

“No, Jim, don’t gimme that,” Bones attempted a smile, “I want my best friend at my death bed, not my least favourite aunt.”

Jim could hear someone approaching behind him, but he didn’t check to see if it was Spock and Uhura, because he didn’t care. If he was going to die, he wanted to die looking into those eyes.

“You know, I hated that stupid nickname when you first gave me it. It smacked too much of the past and of my heartache. But now, I can’t even imagine you without it. It doesn’t remind me of the past anymore; it remind me of the joy of the present.”

Jim felt his heart leap at the thought of him making Bones’ life a little bit better in any way and then fell at the thought of Bones’ admission of how close he was to the end.

“Bones,” he said, not ready to admit what they both knew, “you’re going to be okay.”

“Jim,” Bones raised an eyebrow, “you’re trying to convince Romeo that he’ll survive the play, even though he’s read the script.”

Jim smiled slightly at Bones’ use of over complicated metaphors.

“Hey, Jim, can I tell you something?” asked Bones, grimacing as he moved a hand to grip Jim’s .

“Of course,” said Jim, vainly fighting back tears.

“Please don’t hate me; I couldn’t bear to lose you, not now. I love you,” Bones words came out in a rush, “I have since I first set eyes on you in that stupid shuttle.”

He looked away, until a touch of Jim’s hand against his cheek brought his eyes up to meet Jim’s.

“You idiot,” smiled Jim, “we could have had so many years together. I’ve loved you since you threatened to throw up on me.”

“We’re just a pair of idiots then,” said Bones, smiling against the pain.

“I love you,” smiled Jim and leaned down to press a long kiss to Bones’ lips. 

He could taste the rich tang of blood and salt of his tears.

“I love ya too, darlin’,” said Bones when they pulled apart.

Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he breathed out. His grip of Jim’s hand loosened, but he didn’t let go entirely.

“NO!” shouted Jim, “Bones McCoy! Leonard. Bones.”

His words trailed away to whimpers. He wrapped his arms around Bones shoulders lifting him into his arms and pulling him closer. He sobbed loudly, the sound raucous in the silence.

Spock and Uhura stood back and held each other, suddenly all the more grateful to be alive to do so.

“He’s dead, Jim. He’s dead, Jim. He’s dead, Jim,” wailed Jim, rocking back and forth.

And from that day on, James Tiberius Kirk became a man driven solely by vengeance and loss.

**Author's Note:**

> Wondering about doing one where Jim becomes this vengeance crazed maniac and races all over trying to finds the people who killed Bones and then destroy them. Any one interested?


End file.
